Rise of the Street King

Chapter 23: The Price of Bread

The sun crawled higher, painting the city in a dull, rusty glow. Jayden’s eyes lingered on the rooftop where the mysterious figure had stood hours ago, cigarette smoke curling against dawn’s light. He was gone now, but the image gnawed at him. The hunters he understood. Razor he understood. But this man who watched with calm detachment, who studied him like a chess piece he was different. Dangerous in a way that did not require guns or machetes.

Jayden tore his gaze away. His wound throbbed beneath the bandage, each step sending ripples of pain through his side. He forced himself forward anyway. Rest was weakness. Weakness got you killed.

Beside him, Tariq stretched, yawning. “We should disappear for a while. Lay low. Heal. Let the streets cool off before we jump back into the fire.”

Jayden shook his head. “The streets don’t cool. They burn or they freeze, but they never wait. If I vanish, Razor owns the story. They’ll say I ran. They’ll say I broke.”

Tariq raised a brow. “And what about you? You gonna bleed yourself out to keep a story alive?”

Jayden’s lips curved into something like a smile, though there was no warmth in it. “Better to bleed standing than rot hiding.”

Tariq muttered under his breath but didn’t argue further.

The two slipped through alleys until they reached the part of the slums where Jayden had grown up. Trash lined the cracked streets. Thin children sat on stoops with hollow eyes, watching strangers with a mixture of fear and hunger. Smoke from charcoal stoves hung thick, mixing with the stink of sewage.

For all the blood Jayden had spilled, for all the names whispered about him now, nothing here had changed.

He stopped at a corner where a small bakery leaned half-collapsed against a rusted fence. The smell of warm bread wafted from within, soft and cruel. A line of desperate people snaked out the door, clutching coins or scraps to barter. Jayden’s chest tightened.

Tariq frowned. “Why are we stopping?”

Jayden didn’t answer. His eyes locked on the girl near the back of the line. Skinny, hair tied back with a fraying ribbon. Eyes too old for her small face. His sister, Zuri.

The sight hit him harder than Razor’s blade had. She stood there, waiting, shifting from foot to foot, clutching a single coin in her hand. She hadn’t seen him yet.

Jayden’s breath grew shallow. Memories slammed into him the nights he’d stolen crusts just to feed her, the times he’d promised she’d never go hungry again. Promises he thought his rise would make true. Yet here she was, still begging bread from strangers.

Tariq noticed his stillness. “Jay…?”

“She shouldn’t be here,” Jayden muttered. His fists clenched. “Not anymore. Not ever again.”

He stepped forward. Tariq caught his arm. “Think. If you walk up, everyone sees. Word spreads. The hunters, the Fangs, Razor they’ll know she’s yours. You’ll paint a target on her back.”

Jayden froze. The truth stung. His enemies would use her against him. Razor especially.

His body trembled with rage. He couldn’t show himself, couldn’t take her out of that line without risking her life. All he could do was watch as she shuffled forward, coin clutched tight. When at last she reached the counter, the baker shook his head. Not enough.

Zuri’s face fell.

Jayden’s heart cracked.

Before he could move, a man stepped from the crowd. Tall, scar across his cheek, wearing a cheap suit that didn’t match his slum roots. He pressed a note into the baker’s hand, paid for Zuri’s bread, and even slipped her an extra loaf. She blinked up at him, confused, grateful.

Jayden’s eyes narrowed. This wasn’t charity. Nobody in the slums gave freely.

The suited man crouched, whispering something in Zuri’s ear before ruffling her hair. Then he vanished into the crowd.

Zuri clutched her bread tight, smiling faintly as she hurried home.

Jayden’s nails dug into his palms until they bled. “Who was that?”

Tariq shrugged. “Don’t know. But he wasn’t random.”

Jayden’s chest burned hotter than his wound. The streets were already reaching for his bloodline. Feeding his sister wasn’t kindness it was a hook. Someone was probing for weaknesses.

That night, Jayden sat in a dim room above a shuttered pawnshop, bandaging his wound again. Tariq paced like a caged wolf.

“You’ve been quiet since the bakery,” Tariq said.

Jayden tightened the cloth until the pain made him hiss. “I saw her starve. And I saw a stranger feed her. Do you know what that means?”

“That you can’t protect her without burning her?”

Jayden’s eyes lifted, hard and sharp. “No. It means power isn’t measured in bullets. It’s measured in bread.”

Tariq stopped pacing.

“Think about it,” Jayden continued. “I kill a man, I earn fear. But I feed a man, I earn loyalty. That baker fed more than stomachs today he fed someone’s legend. Whoever that suit was, he’s playing the long game. I’ll learn it. I’ll play better.”

Tariq frowned. “You’re talking about politics, Jay. About control.”

Jayden nodded slowly. “The streets respect violence, but they bow to whoever keeps them alive. Razor can spill oceans of blood. But if I make sure their children eat, I’ll own them without lifting a gun.”

For the first time, Tariq looked unsettled. Jayden’s vision wasn’t just vengeance anymore. It was empire.

Over the next week, Jayden began testing his theory. With scraped earnings from their last hustle, he approached small street vendors: women selling vegetables, men grilling meat on corners, kids hawking cigarettes.

“You sell as usual,” Jayden told them. “But if I hand you money, you pass some food to the hungry. Tell them it came from Jayden.”

The vendors hesitated. But when he protected them from petty thieves and ensured no gang taxed them twice, they agreed. Slowly, quietly, his name spread not just as a fighter, but as someone who gave. The scar on his side hurt with every step, but it reminded him of his vow.

Still, doubt gnawed.

One night, he trailed Zuri from a distance, keeping to the shadows. She carried half a loaf, smiling faintly, whispering something to herself. Probably pretending their mother was still alive, pretending life wasn’t just survival.

Jayden wanted to step forward, to promise her that one day she’d have more than scraps. But the thought of Razor’s men finding out stopped him cold. He watched until she disappeared inside their old home. The door closed. He stayed outside, bleeding silently into the dark.

A week later, his system cracked.

The vendors whispered to him of men demanding bigger cuts. Not Razor’s thugs different ones. Sharper. They were organized, coordinated. And they dropped hints: they knew Jayden’s bread trail. They knew Zuri.

Jayden’s rage threatened to drown him, but Tariq grabbed his arm. “This is bigger than Fangs. Someone else is moving.”

Jayden’s jaw tightened. “Then we find out who. Before they touch her.”

That night, Jayden slipped back to the bakery where Zuri had stood in line. Waiting for him in the alley behind was the man in the cheap suit. Scar on his cheek, hands calm in his pockets.

“I was wondering when you’d come,” the man said with a sly smile. “We should talk. About your sister. About bread. About power.”

Jayden’s pistol rose instantly, finger tight on the trigger.

The man only chuckled. “Shoot me and the bread dries up. Listen, and maybe she eats forever.”

Jayden’s heart thundered. The price of bread had just become the price of his soul.